“Yes,” said Aunt Cassie. “I’ve been discussing him with Sabine, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I may have been wrong about him. She thinks him a clever man with a great future.” There was a pause and she added with an air of making a casual observation, “But what about his past? I mean where does he come from.”
“I know all about it. He’s been telling me. That’s why I was late this morning.”
For a time Aunt Cassie was silent, as if weighing some deep problem. At last she said, “I was wondering about seeing too much of him. He has a bad reputation with women.... At least, so I’m told.”
Olivia laughed. “After all, Aunt Cassie, I’m a grown woman. I can look out for myself.”
“Yes.... I know.” She turned with a disarming smile of Christian sweetness. “I don’t want you to think that I’m interfering, Olivia. It’s the last thing I’d think of doing. But I was considering your own good. It’s harmless enough, I’m sure. No one would ever think otherwise, knowing you, my dear. But it’s what people will say. There was a scandal I believe about eight years ago ... a road-house scandal!” She said this with an air of great suffering, as if the words “road-house scandal” seared her lips.
“I suppose so. Most men ... politicians, I mean ... have scandals connected with their names. It’s part of the business, Aunt Cassie.”
And she kept thinking with amazement of the industry of the old lady—that she should have taken the trouble of going far back into O’Hara’s past to find some definite thing against him. She did not doubt the ultimate truth of Aunt Cassie’s insinuation. Aunt Cassie did not lie deliberately; there was always a grain of truth in her implications, though sometimes the poor grain lay buried so deeply beneath exaggerations that it was almost impossible to discover it. And a thing like that might easily be true about O’Hara. With a man like him you couldn’t expect women to play the rôle they played with a man like Anson.
“It’s only on account of what people will say,” repeated Aunt Cassie.
“I’ve almost come to the conclusion that what people say doesn’t really matter any longer....”
Aunt Cassie began suddenly to pick a bouquet from the border beside her. “Oh, it’s not you I’m worrying about, Olivia dear. But we have to consider others sometimes.... There’s Sybil and Anson, and even the very name of Pentland. There’s never been any such suspicion attached to it ... ever.”